


Casualties

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet again, after years separated by the war - and Aramis fears he's already too late. (post season 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casualties

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr with the prompt, "Aramis returns post-war only to hear Porthos has been hurt while in combat, apparently badly so. Aramis rushes to try and find him praying they'll at least be able to talk, thinking of what it was like to leave him to a full and happy life, vs (if things go wrong) leaving him to die alone in the battlefield."

It’s been years since he last saw them properly – the necessity of war tugging him far away from his brothers, separation and wartime, fighting and always moving. He’d thought, for a time, he would return to the monastery. That would be better, of course. In the end, though, he finds his way back to the regiment – feels that deep sense of being home again even if they are far away from the garrison—

And that’s when he hears the news. Delayed in its travels, a letter from d’Artagnan telling him of the troubles never reached him. He hears the news and forgets to breathe for half a moment before it stutters out of him. It is logical that he would not have heard about it – after all, wartime communication is inconsistent and scattered – but he still feels a dark stab of betrayal as he stares at d’Artagnan for one long moment and then is running, in search of Porthos. 

Porthos is headstrong, favors battles up close, so it is only natural that he should have gotten injured in the battles along the frontline – he is strong, capable, wonderful. A valuable asset to the war effort – but he is, of course, no mere _asset_ , but a man. Someone important. Someone who lives and breathes and _needs to keep living_ a happy and safe life. This is what Aramis meant. This is what he wanted. 

Porthos is a strong man, a good soldier – it’s only natural that he’d sustain injuries. But even then, he feels a sense of betrayal that Porthos would take such actions without Aramis there to watch his back, to hit anyone getting too close to gang up on him with his musket. That was how they worked. Porthos took on the manpower, Aramis watched his back. As soon as he feels that betrayal, he dismisses it – guilty to have felt it at all. It is not Porthos’ fault that he should fight the best way he knows how – it is, after all, Aramis himself who left his back uncovered. Who did not protect him.

Still, he’s running faster than he’s done in a long time, breathing labored, in search of the medic tents where Porthos will be resting. He hadn’t bothered to hear the details from d’Artagnan, only fueled forward by the worry in his voice, and Aramis’ own panic to get there. 

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. 

He left everyone to protect them. Porthos was meant to be safe, happy – living a full, happy, undisturbed life. Without him. Probably married. Numerous children – all beautiful, with his eyes and smile. That was what Porthos was meant to do. Not dying alone on a battlefield, or having some ill-prepared medic trying to stitch him up and unable to handle Porthos’ fits. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Porthos was meant to be alive and happy and safe. Safe. 

He nearly trips over his boots in his effort to skid to a stop and whip open the medic tent, searching out Porthos. The first three tents, Porthos isn’t there – just a few wild-eyed recruits who stare at him in shock and a few medics who tut at him disapprovingly but unable to get in a word edge-wise before Aramis is already tripping off to the next tent. He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if he’s already too late – if Porthos is already _gone_. His heart lodges in his chest the further he goes, fearing he’s already missed it, that he’s already lost him, that he’s already gone—

The last tent, he opens the flap and spots Porthos, sitting up rather uncomfortably on a makeshift slab of a table, no free cots to give. He’s rubbing absently at his unbandaged shoulder, frowning down at the floor. Aramis breathes out and rushes into the room – would throw himself into Porthos’ arms if he weren’t worried by all those bandages. 

Porthos looks up, spots him and recognizes him, and breathes out a small laugh – and his face transforms, from quiet and injured to happy. Still injured, bruised around his eyes and over his jaw, but happy.

“Aramis,” he says, and Aramis remembers to breathe again, falls back to life again. He reaches for Porthos and Porthos is there to meet him, hand already stretched out towards him.


End file.
